Thank God For You
by Silverwindghost
Summary: Edit: Due to pleasant coincidence, this one-shot has been converted into a collab project with Muffinlover, and is now an in-progress series of connected drabbles taking place after the end of the Hetalia movie Paint It, White! Details inside.
1. Thank God for You

A/N: SPOILER ALERT

This fanfic is based off the newly released Hetalia theatrical film, " Paint It White". Since the movie was just released in Japan last summer it has not yet been dubbed, or even subtitled-my friend and I watched it online in plain Japanese, but although we understood little of the actual language the story was easy to follow and the movie itself was amazing beyond words. It is somewhat more serious than the typical style of the anime, but still incorporates the insane and goofy comedic side that makes the series so loveable. I definitely reccomend it to any Hetalia fan. This fic takes place after the end of the film, mainly it's just my take on Germany's thoughts about everything that went down on the island during the final battle against the Picts. Most references are taken directly from the movie, though the bits about the melding of memories was my own interpretation, as was the part about the countries "conjuring" up illusions of their homelands to try and impress the Picts (this actually happened, but the entire time they were still on the Picts ship, so I decided the scenes they presented were being artificially produced by the Powers themselves.) Anyway, enough long-winded explanations that make little sense in the first place. I wrote this in a noisy chaotic classroom halfway through the day, but hopefully you'll enjoy it! Reviews are welcome.

If there was one profound truth that the day's events had presented, it was that a near-death experience could really put things into perspective. Germany couldn't deny this, any more than he could ignore the sharp pains that raced through his body with even the slightest movement. The room he sat in now was draped in soft darkness :a strangely welcoming place after being blinded by the eerie foreign glow of the Picts.

Those goddamned Picts.

They were safe now, all gathered together in a small area of Sealand's fort. There were proper bedrooms onboard, but no one was particularly eager to be left by themselves. They had watched each other fall to what they were sure was death, and in that death they had each felt so alone that it was only instinct now to stay together. They lay curled up on the floor, huddled beneath blankets, curled against one another like young animals. Through the dim atmosphere Germany could just make out each person's familiar shape, turned foreign by their limp hair and tattered clothing. They certainly didn't look like ethreal, spiritual beings. If anything, they looked like drowned, beaten piles of rags. If only the others could see them.

Germany glanced down at the figure that occupied his arms. Italy's face was partially hidden against his chest, one arm wrapped around Germany's neck while the other hand clutched at the sleeve of a sleeping Japan. Germany swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. Only a short hour ago, Italy had been the absolute picture of hysteria. The moment they had all climbed aboard the fort and were well on their way to the mainland, the instant that the concept of safety became a solid reality, Italy started bawling. It happened so suddenly that the others were startled senseless. Italy had thrown himself at Germany, clinging to him with suffocating force, choking back frantic sobs. For a moment the others had watched silently-dumbfounded-until Italy began crying for the other countries as well. Exactly what he was saying no one was sure, his face was still burried in Germany's shirt, but they seemed to get the general idea. Soundlessly they moved to hug him as well. Italy clutched at each one of them, clinging to their clothes while still hanging onto Germany, sobbing and mumbling " died, died, scared, scared, scared," over and over again. Germany was at the center of the group. He felt the others press in around him, felt their arms tighten around each other and their beating hearts, and as the Nations stood there together, they realized that they were alive. They were drained of every ounce of energy in their bodies, their bones felt like they'd been wailed on by a sledgehammer, and their faces were so caked with dirt that they were barely recognizeable. But. They were alive.

" Bloody hell," England said at length, muttering into China's shoulder. He laughed. " That was some show back there. You prats should have seen your faces."

Everyone smiled weakly and nodded. Exhaustion had quickly begun to take hold-the running,the fighting, and the emotional stress finally took its toll. And that wasn't even counting the conjurings, useless as they had been, they had taken an enourmous amount of strength to accomplish. The others fell easily into sleep, together, warm , safe.

Germany did not sleep.

He was not that brave. He feared that if he let his mind go he would return to the shoreline, to the Picts that surrounded hin, to the sight of Italy crying helplessly in the bushes. He was afraid he would see England get blasted in the chest, Russia's scarf flying out behind him as he fell to the ground after a blow to the back. America's legs giving way. France being trampled. China trying in vain to shield himself with a pot. And all the while there was Italy, crying and crying, calling their names and shaking his head disbelievingly, refusing to run from their sides. Italy. Feliciano. Hetalia.

_Hetalia._

Oh, goddamnit.

Sleep or wakefulness made no difference, the images were there in his mind. There was no way to erase them, the experience had been too traumatic. The pain had been one thing: excruciating, devestating, more horrific than anything he had ever felt before. But Italy's tearstained face, the Nations lying on the ground gasping for air...that had been so much worse.

And then there had been the visions.

For as long as he could, Germany had clung to the sight of Italy's face, praying, begging with anyone or anything who might be listening that for once Italy would come to his senses and move. Run away. Get out. Worse than the pain of the Picts draining his lifeforce was the moment when his eyes ceased to work, when the last clear thought in his mind was how much he loved Italy. How unbelievably much he loved him, and now all was lost.

Everyone was lost...

He had promised to protect him, and now there was nothing he could do.

Germany's world was painted white.

Against a blinding canvas, he remembered seeing his curly-headed best friend, his silver-haired younger brother. He was standing in soft grass by a river, he was hugging someone close, he was lying under a tomato crate in the middle of a forest with a frantic young country blubbering above him. The scenes began to shift, and mold together, other memories began to flood in. Memories belonging to the other trapped Nations poured in, merging with his own until he no longer knew who he was. He was kneeling in the mud with the rain pouring down on his head. He was staring out a window, choking back tears. He was sitting in thick, sweet smelling grass, playing with toy soldiers. He was gazing up into cherry blossom trees. There were flowers, and mountains, there was snow, and sunshine, there was everything and everyone inside of him and he was everything and he felt as if his soul was about to explode. And then, from somewhere at the center of it all, he heard a voice. An idiotically happy, cheerful voice, ringing through the confusion and the torment. " Germany's coming back, he's coming back!"

He opened his eyes. Red and blue and a smiling face.A cat, a marker, a laugh. So many colors. Germany's world had been anything but white.

Shaking his head, he burried his face in Italy's hair and closed his eyes. Nearby in the darkness he heard the others mumbling in their sleep, their breathing soft and even. They were alive because of the creature in his arms. It was a fact no one had ever expected to face, but it was the truth. Italy had saved them all. Germany hugged his country closer against him, smiling in spite of himself as Italy mumbled "ve" a few times in his dreams.

" Good, yes, you're right about that," Germany muttered, as his eyes began to close. " It's a damn good thing you were there, Hetalia. Thank goodness you were there...thank goodness..."

Italy smiled in his sleep, clutching Germany's collar like a blanket.

" Thank you."


	2. Art

A/N from Silverwindghost: Yeah, so...this story wasn't originally supposed to be anything but a one-shot. I wrote what is now the first chapter one day in history class out of boredom, and then my friend Muffinlover ended up writing this in her government class for similar reasons, after reading mine. She didn't realize she did it, but the two drabbles actually seem to place one right after the other, in the same setting and situation, so we decided to make a collab out of it and I'm currently writing the next part (which will probably be the ending). Even though it's a collab and fits together it will still probably have the air of a collection of short drabbles, yeah! Credit for this chapter goes to Muffinlover, and it's pretty much amazing. Thanks for all the favorites this story has recieved so far, they're greatly appreciated! But feel free to leave reviews as well!

I smiled despite myself as the little country-_my_ little country-woke up slowly in his makeshift bed. Unfortunately, this makeshift bed happened to be me, and the small hands' grip on my waist was so strong that it made it difficult to breathe. This was a usual occurrence, though-I constantly found him buried under my sheets, as if he thought it was normal to crawl into another person's sleeping quarters whenever he pleased.

We were on board Sealand's fort-or _ship_, in this case-at the time. Our team of countries, World 8, had agreed to let Sealand take us home in order to shut the brat up. This wasn't our major problem, though: only hours before, the Earth had been overrun by extraterrestrials we nicknamed the Picts. It was hard to believe the whole situation had even went on. The world around us was quiet now, and...almost peaceful. The simple idea of peace seemed impossible until that moment, but then I took the time to scan the room and notice the sleeping creatures, including the one occupying my arms.

I quieted my thoughts as Italy, my best friend, the only being in the world I cared for, opened his eyes. I often found myself treasuring these rare moments, for the hyperactive nation preferred to keep his mesmerizing orbs closed most of the time. Sometimes I wondered if I should mention to him that he looked much more adorable when they were revealed to the world. I knew I'd never have the courage to say so-I was too cold-hearted to admit _anything_.

I took this time to hurriedly study his brown irises. I noted that if I looked hard enough, there were flecks of a brighter amber, appearing randomly in different areas. Italy gazed up into my face, blinked a couple of times, and then closed his eyes once more. As he contentedly muttered the phrase 've', burying his head back under my neck, I had the sudden urge to smack myself. So much for that. Much to my dismay, the country is just as annoying when he wakes up as when he falls asleep.

As if he heard my irritated thoughts, Italy raised his head again and looked at me-at least I think he did. "What's wrong, Germany?" he asked in a sleepy slur. He took a second to inspect the room, as if he didn't remember why we were all gathered there. He nodded to himself, pulled the blanket wrapped around him up to his chin, and returned his attention to me.

Caught off guard, I found myself _sputtering_. "I-Italy, how... how did you manage to defeat the Picts earlier?" was my logical response. After all, how could drawing strange expressions on the aliens' faces change their hearts? I didn't understand how a simple marker could drive aliens out of the planet, satisfied and no longer wanting to destroy our world.

Italy gave me a look that said, _'Are you really that ignorant?' _Deciding to ignore the look, I raised an eyebrow as he grinned at me. "Isn't it obvious, Germany?" He snuggled back into my shoulder, and his next statement was muffled in my shirt's fabric.

"Speak up, idiot, I can't hear you," I hissed, pushing him out of his comfortable position. After I did so, though, I almost felt bad for speaking to my friend that harshly.

As usual, Italy remained oblivious of my tone and continued, "It's obvious. Art solves all our problems!"

"Art?" I repeated, as if the word was foreign to me.

"Yes!" The pasta-loving country fell back onto me again, ignoring what I done only a minute before. He sighed with content, as if the very thought of art brought him joy. "It wasn't just art that made them happy, Germany, it was the _idea_."

I merely stared down at Italy, dumbfounded by the fact that he was actually trying to explain something without the words 'pasta' or 've' included. Since when did Italy feel like making sense?

My favorite country suddenly frowned. "You don't understand?"

"Well," I started, clearing my throat to begin a long explanation, "I'm not really-"

"Here!" he interrupted, springing up from his cocoon of blankets. I quickly shushed him, hoping to remind the country that we weren't the only people in the room. Instead of giving me a sign that he understood, he smiled and put his arms out in front of him. Waving his fingers, he conjured up another marker and a blank piece of paper. Here's where our god-like powers became annoying-Italy was able to make anything appear in his hands at any given time, and unfortunately, pasta was the one item that he always pulled out of thin air.

I stared at him, unamused, silently wondering what insane thing he was about to do next.

"Let me draw a picture," Italy told me, settling himself back on the concrete floor. Even in the dark, Italy was a master artist, able to see exactly where he drew the lines. I squinted as the marker flew rapidly across the paper, producing an image ten times faster than a normal human could. After about ten seconds he stopped, studied his work, and the paper was suddenly thrust into my face. "See, Germany?"

"Not exactly," I said, prying Italy's hand and the artwork away from my head. "I can't see anything in this light."

"Oh!" With another flick of his wrist, a candle was present in the room, already lit and hovering over the drawing. "See now?"

I tilted my head to the side to see what he had drawn. Surprised, I saw that it was a detailed portrait of the both of us, standing side by side in a sunny atmosphere. Italy appeared happy and oblivious like always, clutching my hand, while I donned a bored expression, my arms folded and my gaze cast downward. Even though the picture was like an everyday representation of us, I found myself smiling at Italy's creation. As much as I hated to admit it, the artwork was... sweet.

Without warning, Italy stuck a finger in my face and started giggling like a moronic schoolgirl. "See, Germany, _see_? My drawing made you smile! You _never_ smile!"

My cheeks grew hot and I decided that the nearest wall was very interesting to look at. "Your point being?" I asked, pretending to look annoyed.

"The aliens didn't have anything to smile about," Italy explained as if the Picts had told him themselves. "They were boring people who didn't have pasta or pretty colors to enjoy! When I drew funny faces for them, they laughed for the first time. Don't you see, Germany? Art gives people emotion. The aliens didn't know how to feel before I showed them the marker Grandpa Rome gave to me! They just wanted to be happy-The pretty girl I gave my marker to said so!"

I tried to ignore the fact that Italy had just called an alien girl 'pretty' and continued to listen.

"So now do you understand, Germany? They were trying to take away our happiness because they had none. By giving them the marker we allowed them to have fun!"

I stared blankly at him. He stared back.

"Art brings people together," he finished, much quieter than before. He suddenly appeared awkward, and picked at the blanket beside us.

Something changed at that moment. Was I just exhausted from all that had happened the previous day? Was I just moved by Italy's speech that actually made some sense? Was I being possessed by some demon that wanted to embarrass me for an eternity? Without figuring my new feelings out, I grabbed the innocent nation by the shoulders and pressed my lips to his. A moment later I pulled away, my face red and my eyes boring into his.

Wait, _what_?

Italy's eyes were actually open with shock. Blinking, he put a finger to his lips, as if by doing so he would figure out what had lured me to kiss him.

"You're right," I agreed, picking up the paper and admiring the scene sketched upon it. Smiling, I continued, "Art does bring people together."

Rather than turning away, disgusted, Italy beamed, and burrowed back in my arms. I gladly accepted his presence, and allowed him to suffocate me once more. "I made you smile," he murmured, as though that's all he cared about.

I smiled again.


End file.
